


In My Time of Daisies

by anakin



Category: Star Wars RPF
Genre: (i only say dub-con because of drunken fooling around), Alcohol, Co-Workers to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Anxiety, Mentions of chronic pain, Mutual Pining, RPF, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, adam and daisy are both single in this, adam driver is a big ol' romantic, depictions of filming canon reylo in episode ix, don't worry I KNOW IT'S NOT REAL and i plan on writing this respectfully so sit down janet, eventual angst, eventual discussion of struggling with body image, kelly marie tran and adam driver are bffs in this sorry i don't make the rules (just kidding i do), mild dub-con, painfully embarrassing karaoke, probably inaccuracies in the real life timeline, probably... a lot of smut coming in later chapters tbh, real person fiction - Freeform, slight mentions of past infidelitous thoughts, strap in fellas it's gonna be a long one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 10:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anakin/pseuds/anakin
Summary: The first time it happens, they are drunk. Not just drunk, but three sheets to the wind, absolutely shitfaced -- that giddy and warm andhandsykind of trashed.





	1. Blue Jeans

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! This is a **RPF** fic so I just want to make sure you're aware going in that this means **REAL PERSON FICTION**. If you feel the urge to leave hateful comments over the sheer fact that it's RPF, I recommend just clicking the 'x' and keeping your thoughts to yourself as it won't stop me from writing these two goofballs. RPF is nothing new to fandom and it's a lot of fun as long as you don't take it seriously! (People who leave hateful comments will be removed/banned -- seriously, don't be that person.) 
> 
> This story takes place in a 2018 timeline and it will ultimately run into Ep IX filming, so I'll go ahead and say in advance that you can expect timeline inaccuracies and botched filming terminology at some point. I plan on this fic being a multi-chaptered long fic.
> 
> I'm not much of a writer so please go gentle on me. <3

The first time it happens, they are drunk. Not just drunk, but three sheets to the wind, absolutely shitfaced -- that giddy and warm and handsy kind of _trashed._ They’re out to dinner with J.J. and the whole group, one of the many get togethers they’ll have leading up to the day they all begin filming on Episode IX, and the staff of the over-the-top restaurant they’d chosen for the evening was being more than generous to them. The plates were small but the cocktail glasses were large and everyone’s cup runneth over with alcohol.

“What the hell,” J.J. had said with a hearty laugh and a shrug when the waiter came by to offer them yet another round. “Adam just flew in this afternoon and Oscar’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago. We can celebrate.”

Pre-script get togethers were a bit of a formality, but at this point they were all so used to working with one another that it was more of an excuse to spend a weekend in sunny California and catch up with friends. A final hurrah to get the gang back together before they start the grueling weeks ahead of physical training and shooting. J.J. was persistent in taking them all out for drinks before going over the new script with them, which is what tomorrow had in store, and the air was thick with excitement over finally getting to read how this chapter of their story would come to a close.

“I can’t believe this is one of the last times we’ll be getting together like this, guys!” Daisy had pouted over dinner.

“Oh, Daz. It’s not like we can’t do this as often as we want to _outside_ of work.” John replied with a twinkle in his eye.

And soon after their food had been served and quickly devoured, it was time for the real fun of the night to begin.

Adam had spent the past 30 minutes deep in conversation with J.J. and they’d somehow landed on the topic of Noah Baumbach and his method of directing, which leads to J.J. saying he’d be interested in seeing Noah’s take on a sci-fi film, and that leads into an entire spiel on how directing sci-fi can be a bit different than approaching other projects.

He can feel the burn of whisky on his tongue as he downs the remainder of his Old Fashioned and steals a glance at Daisy. She’s sitting across the table from him, cheeks rosy and face all lit up as she animatedly tells John, Oscar, and Kelly a story; something about her sister Poppy and waging a war with a neighbor’s cat, and John’s hand hits the table as he roars with laughter. Oscar then lunges into a tale of how his cat had developed a habit of stealing his Cheetos when he wasn’t looking, the sneaky bastard, and it's not long before the sound of laughter bounces off the walls of the VIP room once more.

Despite going so long without having seen each other, it’s always been easy for them to fall into place. It’s been the same since the moment they’d all first met for The Force Awakens – friendships immediately formed and hilarious stories to follow.

This is how their group outings typically went – Daisy, John, Oscar, and Kelly were much more outgoing and giggly usually well before the alcohol was even poured, while Adam tended to be a bit more reserved and enjoyed falling into discussion with J.J., Rian, or Kathleen because it usually always resulted in something enlightening about the job. _Always be prepared._ A motto mostly used by the Boy Scouts of America, but also frequently used by one detail-obsessed and somewhat anxious Adam Douglas Driver. Abrams was always open to sharing his thoughts on how they could further expand on the character of Kylo Ren, always providing more details of his background to help Adam sew another layer of emotion into the part and, while these outings weren’t 100% work related each time, J.J. had a brilliant mind to pick and he sure loved to talk an ear off. If there was somebody who truly loved the art of cinema and always made sure not to take any of it for granted, it was J.J. Abrams, and Adam had really come to look up to him.

Adam, introvert that he could tend to be while attending loud Saturday night dinners, was an observer. A genuine people watcher. There’s a lot to be learned about somebody simply by surveying the way they hold themselves, their posture, the way their facial expressions twitch and react to the person sitting across from them. Moments, while sometimes fleeting, could contain so much more if people were willing to slow down and pay more attention. Perhaps in another life he would have chosen to study psychology instead of joining the Marines and then traipsing off to Julliard.

It wasn’t that he didn't join in the joking around or get lost in conversation during these meet ups, because he did, and he could be _fucking_ hilarious when he wanted to be, thankyouverymuch. But there was a part of him that would always feel that slight twist of anxiety of being in crowd or feeling pressured to entertain, and thankfully the people seated at this table had grown used to how reserved he could sometimes be.

Tonight, well. He’d been doing a lot of observing. More-so than usual, and he could probably thank the liquor sitting warm in his belly for that.

His eyes had been drifting across the table to Daisy since the moment they’d all sat down for dinner. Daisy Ridley, his Star Wars co-star and his _bestie_ , as she so often referred to him as. They had worked incredibly well together during both The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi and had remained casual friends after working each film. It had been difficult to maintain a connection deeper than ‘casual friends’ what with both of their careers spiraling non-stop with other projects since the moment they’d signed onto the franchise. There was no denying that they had formed an unexplainable bond while filming the more emotional scenes of The Last Jedi _and_ while spending many nights in each other’s hotel rooms in Ireland joking and discussing ways to approach the material, but once filming was over and it was back to the hustle and bustle of non-galactic life, they had gone back to the casualness of just being co-workers. And that was fine.

Her preferred method to keep in touch once filming had ended was via Snapchat, and she sent him photos and videos of her adorning various furry-eared filters quite often. “Adam, you _have_ to Snap me back otherwise I’m basically just shouting into the void,” she’d chided him once in a video message, glowing pink flowers bouncing around her head, after weeks of him replying to her Snaps with short text messages. So he’d gotten into the habit of replying to her Snaps with random photos of himself. Photos of him rolling his eyes at the camera as he models flower-covered antlers, photos of his face half hidden by his blankets when he’d reply from bed in the mornings, and sometimes photos of whatever was currently sitting in front of him just to satisfy her with being able to see _something_ in response. She was delighted.

There were days when Adam had found himself looking forward to getting her daily photos. Sometimes a Snap of the European countryside with a text overlay reading “These cliffs look a bit like the ones we dined next to in Dingle!” – complete with a little heart emoji – was exactly what he found himself needing on a rough day, and her texts of exclamation points when he’d send her random photos of Moose or complaints of traffic outside or of his Keurig as it brewed coffee let him know that she looked forward to them, too.

It’s their first time seeing each other in person in months and Daisy is just as chipper as always. Her hair is lighter than he’s used to seeing it, still brown but with a hint of honey blonde now, and his gaze follows a loose strand falling into her face as she laughs with everyone at the table. Her laugh is loud and merry, one of those full body laughs that has her tossing her head back in glee, and he chuckles along, too, because the joy of the room is infectious and right now he’s feeling downright captivated. He’s still staring, he knows it, and his eyes catch the movement of her hand as she reaches up to tuck the hair back into its place behind her ear when suddenly her eyes lock on his and he knows he’s been caught looking. Again. _Shit._

“You’re blushing, Titanosaur,” Kelly Marie speaks low in the seat next to him, giving Adam’s shoulder a playful poke. She’s eyeing him with a knowing look while taking a bite out of one of the remaining hors d'oeuvres on the table in front of them, and he gives her a warm smile.

“Am I blushing or do I just need another visit from ol’ Johnnie Walker?” He asks playfully, his hand reaching out to absentmindedly toy with his empty cocktail glass.

“Well, it is a Saturday night _and_ it’s not every day that you get all of us in the same room without being surrounded by scripts, so I say give Johnnie a call and see what he brings you,” she replies with a wink, and raises her own glass in a cheers motion toward him.

Ever the inspiration. His friendship with Kelly Marie Tran had been a surprise to both of them, and not for any other reason than that they just hadn’t spent much time together on the set of The Last Jedi or during the press tours.

Kelly Marie, much like Daisy, had _loved_ to communicate via Snapchat and, on top of loving to send photos, she was a very kind-hearted person who reached out to check up on people with genuine care and consideration. It hadn’t been a secret when Adam’s marriage had moved on to separation and, despite the fact that Kelly had hardly known him at the time, she had been persistent with offering him an ear to vent to, a pal to get together and watch movies with, cocktails on her dime, and space – if he needed it. One night he’d drunkenly spilled his guts to her over the phone, and she to him about the amount of abuse she’d been receiving on the internet from so-called “fans”.

“You don’t need that shit… Facebook, Instagram,” Adam gruffly announced into the phone when she’d told him just how bad the harassment and abuse had gotten. “I can see the appeal of it, wanting to interact and post funny videos or pictures of John with cat ears, but at the end of the day it becomes just another tool for these people to feel like they’re in control of something, that they’ve earned a right to know about your life just because you let them see pieces of it. You deserve better.”

“Yeah!” Kelly had replied enthusiastically, as if his words had just given her the epiphany she’d needed all along. “You’re right, Adam. I don’t need that shit. Screw that shit!” She was laughing when she added, “But not the pics of John in cat ears, I’ll keep those.”

And just like that they’d become the closest of friends.

“Adam,” Daisy calls to him in a sing-song voice from across the table and his attention snaps from his thoughts and back over to her. “Oscar’s about to make a run to the bar, do you need him to grab you another one?” She’s motioning to his own empty glasses, cheeks still flushed from laughing only moments ago. Her lips are slightly stained cherry from all the red wine she’s had and she’s eying him with interest.

“They have karaoke in one of the other VIP rooms, right?” Oscar asks as he stands from his seat at the table before glancing around for drink orders.

“I’ll take another Black Label. Rocks, please.” Adam says without hesitation. “And, yes, I’m pretty sure they do.”

“Are we doing karaoke?!” Kelly chimes in from beside him, eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “ _Please_ say we’re doing karaoke because I need to hear John’s rendition of Africa by Toto again.”

“You bet your ass we’re doing karaoke,” John says with a grin and an exaggerated puffing out of his chest, like drunken karaoke was _game on_ and he was in it to win. Which, after Adam had heard him sing once before, he could easily do.

J.J. laughs and shakes his head. “You kids and your singing,” he says in his best mock-elderly man voice, gathering his belongings to get ready to leave. “I’d love to stay and witness this again” – this was _not_ their first full cast karaoke rodeo, the last one at the wrap party resulting in a full-on Eminem rap battle – “but I’m on dog duty and, well, I’ve got a damn good buzz and might hit the hay soon.” He stands and slides on his coat, tossing a nod in their direction. “The check is taken care of and you have the VIP rooms for the night. Try not to get too out of control because I need your minds in tip top shape to go over some of the script tomorrow afternoon.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

Kelly and John had single-handedly finished off the remainder of the group’s charcuterie board, bursting into laughter and using their forks to pretend to battle it out over the remaining piece of aged mimolette – “fine, I surrender, we’ll split” – by the time Oscar returns with their drinks and shuffles them over to one of the karaoke rooms next door.

“Gotta hand it to them for the mood lighting,” Oscar calls with a grin as they enter a room lit only by neon lighting, Chinese lanterns, and the glow of a TV mounted in the center of one of the walls. It was tacky as hell, although the furniture made sure to maintain the restaurant’s upscale appearance, and absolutely perfect for what they needed.

“When I’d dreamt of making it to Los Angeles,” Oscar adds, voice cracking with laughter as he leans to place his drink and a large, unopened bottle of wine on one of the white tables, “this is everything I had in my mind. All we’re missing is inflatable palm trees and some good ol’ fashioned black lights.” He spreads out his arms as if to welcome them all into his fabulous Los Angeles abode.

“You forgot the abundance of coke and sketchy Hollywood producers,” Adam jokes, stepping into the room with his cocktail in one hand and his blazer slung lazily across his arm. His buzz had slammed into him like a train now that he’s standing, a railroad of warmth and feeling _fucking great_ all the way down to his toes as he drinks another sip of whisky.

He’d needed this more than he realized – getting out and seeing familiar faces that he’d missed. It’d been mentioned to him more than once over the past couple of months that he was becoming quite the workaholic, seeming to only leave the comfort of his Brooklyn brownstone if it meant diving head first into a new acting project or speaking at a local AITAF event.  His friends had casually let it be known that they were concerned he was taking on more than he could handle, that he’d eventually become overwhelmed with working constantly and get burnt out on what made him fall in love with acting in the first place, but Adam knew his limits and each new role only challenged him to become even better at the job. Adam’s daily life was all about control and order, maintaining his privacy and putting on a strong face – a form of discipline hammered into him during his training in the Marine Corps; the luxury to swathe himself in the lives of different people, to have a reason to allow himself to fall apart over and over again, was a form of therapy that had grown to guard his sanity.

Having _fun_ , though. That was another form of therapy.

Daisy’s wearing a short scallop-ended black dress and, _Christ_ , if Adam hadn’t noticed it on her before he sure notices it now that she’s slid off the tan faux-leather coat she’d been wearing over it all night. It’s a loose enough fit that when she enters the room last and spins on her heel dramatically, hand holding her glass of wine raised high over her head, the bottom of the fabric fans out around her and lifts just enough to expose the skin above her knees. He swallows hard and suddenly feels about ten inches too tall for the room they’re standing in, and he absolutely doesn’t realize when his gaze lingers, once more, for a moment too long. Daisy meets his eyes _again_ and this time gives him a sly smile.

“I’m in the mood for a bit of Lana,” she declares, lifting the iPad from its stand on one of the tables and using a finger to sift through the categories available to them. “And you’re going to sing along with me, Adam. A duet of sorts.”

Kelly cheers loudly at this like it’s the greatest thing she’s _ever_ heard, and her squeals are quickly followed by clapping and inebriated shouts of encouragement from Oscar and John.  

Adam tosses his blazer over the back of the chair closest to him and wipes his hands against the denim of his jeans as if getting ready to accept a challenge. A duet? He could handle a duet. Crush one, even.

“I have no idea who Lana is, but alright, kid. Let’s do this.”

Daisy stops scrolling through the songs on the dimly-lit iPad screen, the neon lights of the room casting a blue and yellow glow across her face, and stares up at him with her mouth dropped open in exaggerated awe.

“You look like a walking Lana Del Rey song and you’re telling me you don’t know any of her music?”

Her retort earns another loud giggle from Kelly and Adam raises an eyebrow. He’s aware that there’s a compliment wrapped in there _somewhere_ , but he’s not sure what she means by it. He throws a glance over to Kelly and makes a mental note to ask her about this later, assuming his soon-to-be hangover will allow him to remember, and shakes his head.

“I don’t,” he says, voice deep as he continues to watch her study the song options on the tablet. “But since I have no idea who Lana Del Something is, I think you should serenade us with your favorite song. You know I’m always in the mood to watch and learn.”

At this he earns himself an eyebrow raise from Daisy, as she’s probably more than aware that he’s in a watching mood tonight. It’s not as if they haven’t caught each other with wandering eyes before – in fact, it’s happened quite often during previous outings and line rehearsals, something to be expected when you’re portraying characters who have a deep connection between each other and have to delve into that mindset, but there’s something different in the air now, as if somehow the frequency of sending photos to each other and joking back and forth via text message over the past few months had made _actually_ _seeing_ each other again that much more exciting and curious.

She finally selects a song from the list and music starts flowing through the room from the stereo speakers mounted in each corner. Kelly leans across the table to hand her the mic and Daisy’s thumb hits the switch to turn it on, and then she makes eye contact with Adam, her face amused but challenging, before breaking into a wide smile that seems only for him.

She motions for him to take a seat in one of the chairs next to the table in front of them and damn if he doesn’t do as told as told, turning the chair to face the center of the room so he can have a better view of the singing.

“To watching and learning.” She says coyly.

Oscar gives a loud whistle of encouragement that’s soon joined with hoots and hollers from John, Kelly, and Adam.  

“Teach us!” Someone shouts.

Daisy beams at them before reaching across Adam for her glass of wine, her hip brushing against his chest with the movement, and downs a rather _large_ sip. “You’re up next, John—” she gives John a nod (“You’ve got it, Peanut!”) and does a drunkenly elegant curtsy, fingers gripping each side of her little black dress, and clears her throat to begin.

 _“Blue jeans, white shirt—”_ her voice croons over the speakers in tune to the music and she pauses to giggle, clearly feeling a bit shy now that all eyes are focused on her. _“Walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn.”_

One thing that they’ve all always known about Daisy – she can sing. Her voice was enchanting and could be beautifully haunting when she chose the right type of song, and she always managed to capture everyone’s attention even when she was tipsy and stumbling on the words.

 _“It was like James Dean, for sure. You’re so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancer._ _You were sort of punk rock, I grew up on hip hop. You fit me better than my favorite sweater.”_

She’s dancing around the room now, a sight to see in the glow of the neon, dress clinging to her slim body and movements still shy but with a bit more confidence, and when she brings a hand up to run through her own hair Adam feels as if all the air is being sucked out of the room.

He’s aware that the other three next to him are dancing and continuing to cheer her on, but he watches her in silence, transfixed as if the night had cast a spell over him, and catches every single time she throws a glance his way as if gauging his reaction. He was reacting, all right, and he had no idea where this tension between them had come from, but it was blossoming thick in the air with each passing moment and he wasn’t necessarily about to complain.

Before Adam realizes what’s happening Daisy is crowding his space, the scent of her floral perfume filling his senses as her hair falls into his face, and his eyes widen as she slings a leg over his and downright _straddles him_ in the chair he’s sitting in. “Shit,” he breathes.

“Get it!” A yell comes from beside him but he’s too distracted to register who the voice belongs to because she’s _moving_ now, her hips slowly rocking to the tune to the music and bare thighs dragging against the denim of his jeans as as she continues singing, _“I will love you 'til the end of time, I would wait a million years. Promise you'll remember that you're mine.”_

It takes every ounce of self-control he possesses to be a good midwestern gentleman and keep his hands to himself, even though his body is quickly betraying him and he yearns to run his fingers along the exposed skin of her legs, up the sleek fabric of her dress, and tangle them in her hair.

Daisy picks up her glass of wine from the table and gives the rest of the group an amused shrug as if Adam was simply in her line of access and this was the only possible way she could get to her drink, and she’s still straddling his lap when she stops singing long enough to take gulp. She’s so close, closer than she’s ever been to him outside of being in character, and his breathing is shallow as he revels in the feeling of her body against his, the movement of her throat inches away from his face as she swallows the alcohol. He wonders if she knows what she’s doing to him. If she can feel the pitter patter of his heart as it hammers against his chest.

And just as quickly as she’d climbed on top of him, she’s gone, twirling again in the center of the room, fingers pointing to Kelly, Oscar, and John and swaying until she finishes up her song, and when it’s over everyone stands to give her the loudest 4-person standing ovation their tiny karaoke room had probably ever heard.

“That’s Lana,” Kelly calls over to him, giving him a grin and an excited nod. “She killed it!”

“It was pretty fucking great,” Adam shouts in agreement. He runs a hand through his hair and tries not to focus on the fact that _Daisy Ridley just straddled him in front of everyone._

Oscar laughs when John makes his way over to the iPad to pick his song. “Oh, come on, Daisy! No one can top that. It’s standard practice to save the best for last.” She blushes as if she’s suddenly feeling shy again but there’s a satisfied smile on her face as she moves to sit in John’s empty seat next to Kelly.

“I, for one, am _not_ climbing into Adam’s lap, as inviting as it may be,” John says into the microphone.

Adam chuckles at this and the rest of the room cracks up, breaking into another round of cheers as John begins the first verse of the Childish Gambino song he’d selected.

 

* * * * * * *

 

They order one final round of drinks and clink their glasses together with a hearty “cheers!” before Oscar and Kelly head to the center of the room to close out karaoke with their own spin of ‘Dancing On My Own’ by Robyn, and when John, Daisy, and Adam stand to join in on singing and dancing wildly around the room, Adam wonders why the hell they don’t do this more often.

By the time 3am rolls around, Adam has accomplished what may be his finest job of overthinking basic human interactions to date. He’s _hammered_ , but not too gone for a bit of rational thinking (or so he tells himself) and has nearly convinced himself that he simply had imagined all of the night’s flirtations with Daisy. They’d both continued to steal glances toward each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking, but she’s remained seated or standing as far away from him as possible since her karaoke rendition. They’re just _friends_ – more like acquaintances, really – and last he’d heard she was seeing someone anyway. He was no stranger to tales of Hollywood affairs and knew that nothing good could come from developing a crush ( _Christ, was he 12?_ ) on someone he was about to spend months working with again.

That doesn’t stop him from being the quickest to volunteer to walk her back to her hotel, which is only three blocks away from the restaurant. His hotel is a bit further away but, _fuck it_ , he’d just have to uber back to his once he was sure she was safe and sound in her room. Daisy’s face lights up when he tells the others that it’s no problem and that, really, he wouldn’t mind getting some fresh air anyway and that a walk will do both of them good – great for sobering up and all, and before they know it they’re standing outside of the restaurant waving goodbye to everyone as they climb into their taxis.

“You don’t have to do this,” Daisy says from behind him, shrugging her faux-leather coat back on over the little black dress she’d more than shown off throughout the course of the night. “It’s only a couple of blocks, you know. I can manage.”

Adam looks up from buttoning up his own blazer and smiles sheepishly.

“It’s not every day I have an excuse to take a walk in California. The company’s not too bad, either.”

She grins at this and moves to link her arm with his and he stumbles a bit at the unexpected tug, and they’re both chuckling shyly as they regain their balance on the sidewalk. It’s ridiculously late but the night life of the strip is somehow still bustling, and they both realize pretty quickly that they should probably find a less busy route to take on their way back to the hotel before people start to recognize them and take pictures.

Daisy pulls out her iPhone and it takes her a couple of tries to find the correct hotel in Maps, but she locates it and sets their walking directions so that they can navigate the alleyways between buildings without getting lost.

“I don’t know if I’ve even told you tonight how good it is to see you again,” she says sincerely. Her accent is thicker than usual and he can tell that she’s just as trashed as he is right now, but he doesn’t stop her when she leans her head against his shoulder as they walk with arms still entwined. “That haircut suits you.”

“Does it?” He asks, using his free hand to absentmindedly work his fingers through his hair. He’d recently cut it short for a new role, a la Paterson, and while it was just hair and he really didn’t give a shit about _hair_ , it was no secret that fans had been incredibly vocal about finding him more attractive with it longer.

“It does,” she replies. After a beat she adds, “It’s nice to see more of your face. It’s a good face.”

Adam laughs loudly at this and he can feel his cheeks turning red at the compliment.

“Yeah, uh,” he begins, suddenly aware of how slowly they’re walking, as if they’re simultaneously trying to fight this night ending now that they’re alone and actually have a chance to catch up. “The blonde is nice. In your hair, I mean. I thought it looked lighter in the photos you’ve sent me, but…” his voice trails off as if he doesn’t know exactly where he was doing with that thought. “You always look beautiful, though. You could shave your head and I’d still be a fan.”

Daisy stops walking and turns to face him, the heels of her boots making a loud _crunch_ sound against the cobblestone pathway they’re currently walking down. She’s standing close enough to keep her arm hooked through his which mean she’s _very close_ as she watches him now. She looks up, eyes searching his face, meeting his eyes first and then slowly making her gaze down to his lips. Her face is illuminated red from the glow of a seedy tattoo parlor sign they’re stopped in front of and he’s pretty sure he’s never noticed just how many freckles are scattered across her cheeks until this moment. He swallows, suddenly feeling the tension from earlier in the evening hit him like a ton of bricks all over again. Maybe he hadn’t been imagining things. Her face cracks into a wide smile and she turns to resume their walking. “You always have been sweet to me,” she says quietly.  

“Isn’t that what besties are for?” Adam replies with another low chuckle. _Besties._ It had been a recurring theme with them while filming The Last Jedi – Daisy would leave kind ‘ _thank you_ ’ notes for him in his trailer after shooting particularly difficult scenes together, and she’d end each one by calling him her ‘ _bestie’_ . It’d then become a running gag for him to scrawl a reply asking her to ‘ _please stop telling everyone we’re besties’_ and place the notes on the table in her own trailer, but they’d always be folded and tattered enough to betray him and give away that he’d carried them around in his pocket all day long before putting them back.

“Mhm.” She breathes a content sigh.

“I’ve never really understood the appeal of Los Angeles.” Her head is back in its place against his shoulder as they slowly stroll along and her face is tilted up to stare at the sky. “All smog and no stars. Noisy,” she scrunches up her nose at this and Adam, looking down just in time to catch the movement, laughs once more. “A bit too hot, isn’t it?”

The British Siri voice from her phone speaks to tell them to turn and her attention snaps back down to the directions in her hand. “Here!” She exclaims, pointing toward a dark alley between a surf shop and a boutique.

“I don’t think Los Angeles is the worst place to be, but I definitely prefer New York City,” he answers as they round the corner to enter the dark walkway. She clings to his arm a bit more tightly. “LA is a different vibe. When you’re here you feel as if you’ve entered this massive fucking bubble where nothing is quite as genuine inside as it is on the outside. Don’t get me wrong,” he rambles, using his free hand to gesture as he speaks. “There’s a lot of creative energy here and I respect that. But there’s so much that doesn’t feel _real._ ”

And suddenly he’s being pushed against the wall of the alleyway, the back of his head coming into contact with brick with a soft _thud_ , and Daisy is crowding his space again, breathing heavy and pressing her body against his. Her lips are hovering just over his exposed collarbone and he can feel her breath against his skin, quick little puffs of drunken want.

It happens so fast.

“Does this feel real?” She asks, and then she’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to his skin, hungrily moving her way up to his neck.

“Fuck,” is all he manages to breathe out in shock, a low rumble of an expletive, and his mind is _too slow_ to catch up to his body as he pulls her in closer, impossibly closer, his arms snaking up her back and hands running through her hair. His body is still thrumming with the buzz of alcohol and his hands are so needy, so desperate to touch and explore as she licks at the line of his jaw, sealing it with a little kiss and a goddamn _bite,_ and –

“Take this off.” His voice is gruff and it echoes against the walls of dark alley as he thumbs at her coat, and she breaks away long enough to oblige, but not before moving her trembling fingers to work at the buttons of his own blazer. It takes more time than it probably would had they been doing this sober, but she finally slips the last button free and he steps forward enough for her to tug the blazer from his shoulders — and he’s sure he hears her mutter a breathy “ _massive”_ followed by _"wanted this for so long_ " — and then she slides her own coat off in a hurry. And then they’re back at it, her mouth working its way across the new expanse of exposed skin available to her, dragging her nails across his t-shirt with need.

 _We’re drunk_ , he tries to remind himself.

He groans loudly and tilts his head back against the wall as she slots a thigh between his legs, little black dress riding up, and, no, he needs to see, wants to watch her come undone in the dim light of a Los Angeles alley because this is the hottest thing to ever fucking happen to him and he still kind of can’t believe it’s happening, so he lowers his head to get a good look at her face.

“God, you’re so—” Adam begins, staring down at her face and her lips that are still cherry-stained from wine and now slightly swollen from marking his neck, and she grins victoriously, as if she’s just won a battle she’d been fighting for _so long._ He leans forward to close the remaining distance between them and finally captures her mouth in a kiss, bringing his large hands up to cup her face, and it starts off much sweeter than he’d intended but it only takes a second before he’s _too fucking into it_ and deepens the kiss, parting his mouth to give her tongue access. It’s sloppy and sweaty and she tastes faintly of Chateau Margaux, and neither one of them can seem to get enough as they pant against each other. He nips at her bottom lip, lightly sucking it between his teeth, and when she moans against him the sound goes straight to his dick which he knows is about to betray him in about 0.5 seconds, but she only seems that much more encouraged when she can feel him pressing heavy against her thigh through the fabric of his jeans.

“Did you think of this?” Daisy begins, breaking away from his kisses and staring up at his face with pupils blown. She slides a hand underneath the material of his t-shirt, now damp with sweat, and splays her fingers across his stomach as if there’s _so much of him_ and she’s worried the skin she can’t touch will slip away from her. She presses a warm, open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone again. “Back in Ireland?”

“I was married.” He pants, raising a hand to tousle through his sweat-slicked hair.

“Yes. And I was with Tom. But that’s not what I asked,” she says, shifting her leg to press insistently against the length of him, causing him to moan and throw his head back against the brick once more. Her fingers are caressing the skin underneath his shirt now, feather-light but still moving with an eagerness, and she stands on her tiptoes to press her lips against the shell of his ear when she asks again. “Did you think about it?”

Now wasn’t the time to pause and ponder the politics of whether he thought of other women while married, even though he would have never, ever _acted_ on his thoughts, so he doesn’t overthink it when he reaches down to grab her bare thighs under the fabric of her dress and lifts her up against him, holding her body flush against his hips.

“I thought about it.” He rasps out, deep voice cracking, and shifts to allow her to wrap her legs around his waist. Her head is level with his like this and now it’s his turn to dip forward and trail kisses at the exposed skin of her neck, sucking a bruise just above her pulse point. “Of you—” he mumbles hot and wet against her jaw as he uses one arm to hold her into place against him and the other to grip into the hair at the nape of her neck. She rocks herself against his hips and his shirt has ridden up enough that he can _feel_ the spread of her legs against his bare skin, and that alone is enough to almost drive him mad. “Of this.”

 _We’re drunk!_ His mind is now screaming at him as if he’s heading down the wrong end of a tunnel and needs to turn back now.

“Adam,” she whimpers, leaning forward to capture his mouth in another heated kiss, this one more desperate than the rest as she pulls him against her chest, fingers kneading into his hair and _tugging_ , and her tongue caresses his in a way that he knows is going to lead to “Come back to my room.”

He kisses her long and deep instead of answering immediately, wanting to burn the taste and feel of her into muscle memory before ultimately deciding they needed to bring it to an end for the night.

“I would, but…” he trails off, separating from her just enough to meet her eyes. Her fingers dig into his shoulders and she gazes at him with anticipation, lips only inches apart, breaths mingling.

“But?”

He knows he’s going to immediately regret the words that come out of his mouth before he even says them.

“Not like this, Daisy. You’re drunk.”

She considers his words for a moment and rocks her body against his once more as if that doesn’t _matter_.

“I’m not as innocent as I look, Adam. I have had a drunken lay before.”

He’s still panting when he presses a quick kiss to her forehead before lowering her back to the ground, stifling a moan as her body slides against him, and lets his eyes take in her disheveled appearance now that his mind has fully caught up and they’re taking a second to breathe.

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself.” He speaks softly, choosing his words carefully, but by the dejected look on her face he can tell that anything he says right now is going to be the wrong thing to say. “I don’t want to just be a drunken lay.”

He rubs his palms against the sides of his jeans anxiously.

“ _I’m_ drunk and I don’t want to take advantage of you in any way,” Adam continues, maintaining eye contact as the words spill from his mouth. “And if we are going to do this, I want to do it the right way.”

“Or maybe you jus—” Her voice is hard as if she’s just been dealt a blow of rejection and she’s trying to steel herself against more, but he cuts her off.

“You think I don’t want this?” He asks, taking a step toward her and motioning with his hands. “You? It’s taking all I have right now not to say _fuck it_ and get on my knees right here in this alley.”

She shivers at his words as if they were a cool breeze drifting by her in the hot summer air, but he can tell by the look on her face that she’s pondering what he’s saying, that even though she’s drunk she’s still capable of rationalizing what’s happening. He leans down to pick their coats, now dirty from _who knows what_ on the ground of the alley, and drapes them over his arm, offering the free one to her again. She gives him a small smile and runs her hands through her hair in attempt to hide the fact that she was just heavily ravished in public. He can hear the muffled sounds of Siri telling them to turn left in 300 feet.

They fall into a content silence as he walks her the rest of the way to her hotel and he tries not to notice how the sky is beginning to lighten with tell-tale signs of a rising sun. _So much for not getting too out of control._ He walks her all the way through the lobby but doesn’t trust himself to ride the elevator up with her, so when it dings to signify it’s on its way down, he leans forward to capture her mouth in another kiss.

“Just sleep on it. If you still want this when you wake up in the morning, you know how to reach me.”

That night, when Adam takes cock into his own hands, hot and heavy and slick with pre-come as he fucks himself into his fist, he loses control with a shout and Daisy’s name on his lips.


	2. Sour Patch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's a romantic! Adam Driver, the sullen, intimidating giant who is capable of portraying one of the most terrifying figures in modern children’s movies is a _romantic_ , and Daisy is feeling absolutely wooed as she looks on into his deep, chocolatey brown eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of the kind words about the first chapter! I love comments and seeing that people actually enjoy this story so far is already keeping me inspired, so, really, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your feedback. <3
> 
> This chapter is mostly hurt/comfort and tooth-rotting fluff. Oof. A bit of talk of Daisy's endometriosis struggle (which is a real thing she suffers from) and insecurity.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

  

> **EXT. MUSTAFAR – SET – NIGHT**
> 
> Wide shot of REY and KYLO REN running breathlessly, lightsabers gripped in their hands. KYLO REN leaps to knock REY out of the way of a fire ball shooting up toward the air from beside the path. They stop to pace themselves.
> 
> **KYLO REN**
> 
> [Soot smudged on face, gasping for air – injury slowing him down]
> 
> You go ahead. I’ll stay here and hold them off so that you have enough time to reach the escape pod.
> 
> **REY**
> 
> [Face crestfallen]
> 
> Ben, no. We’ve made it this far. If you stay behind now, you’ll—
> 
> REY is interrupted by the sounds of TIE Fighters approaching. HUX and the FIRST ORDER ARMY will be arriving at any moment.
> 
> **KYLO REN**
> 
> [Expression hard]
> 
> I’ll what, Rey? Die? Isn’t that what I deserve after all of the pain I’ve caused, after what I did [KYLO REN’s voice breaks] to my own father? If making sure you get out of here alive is the last decent thing I’m still capable of doing before I’m executed, then I know what I have to do.
> 
> **REY**
> 
> [Determined]
> 
> Having to live with your past mistakes is punishment enough. I’ve felt your torment, your regret, and the way it’s devoured you daily. I will not leave you here to die. This is not how the story – our story – ends.
> 
> REY’s face softens as she takes a step closer to KYLO REN, her eyes pleading. She reaches her own soot-covered hand up to touch his face.
> 
> **REY**
> 
> [With sincerity]
> 
> I know my odds of making it off of this planet without you, Ben Solo. And they’re good. But I don’t want to.
> 
> REY leans forward and kisses KYLO REN, passionately.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Daisy reads over the script page in front of her once, twice, three times now, her orange highlighter still hovering over where she’s already neatly marked all of the lines reading “REY”, and her breath catches in her throat as she tries to visualize the scene in her head. It reads beautifully; two broken souls on the run from a terrifying army with a bounty on their heads finding solace in the very place viewers had been taught was evil by association. Getting absolutely lost in the throes of passion with the fire ball of a death planet spanning gorgeously behind them. It was brilliant, really.

She’d known this day was coming. That she’d have at least one, perhaps multiple, kiss scenes to film with Adam, and she couldn’t deny that she had been a wee bit nervous to reach this portion of the script because not only would she be essentially making out with _Adam_ – her tall, dark, and obscenely handsome co-star who could be quite intimidating while in character – but this was going to be the popping of her on-screen kiss cherry. She’s gone through it in her mind dozens of times – what it’ll be like to properly kiss somebody over and over again with 50 people watching and a boom hovering above her head, and each time she imagines it she can just feel the awkwardness of it all on top of the insecurity brewing in her gut. What if she doesn’t look good while… being passionately kissed in professionally-done makeup on a stunning set in the world’s most popular and highly-budgeted space opera? That was a possibility, right? Okay, perhaps she’s been overthinking it a bit. A lot. Bollocks.

Not that she had any say in the matter, but Daisy hadn’t exactly been “on board” when J.J., Rian, and Kathleen had broken the direction of Rey’s romantic leanings to her. They’d loosely given her a run down of their plans when she had been handed the script for The Last Jedi – not enough information to reveal the ending of the final film, but enough to help her mold her character in way that would better fit the story they’re trying to tell. She remembers the way her face fell when she’d been told the news and that she’d had to take a moment to sit and remind herself that, while she was the face of this character, Rey did not belong to her. She was merely a vessel to bring somebody else’s vision to life.

She’d become very attached to the idea of portraying a female hero with no romantic ties while filming and promoting The Force Awakens, and she was in love with knowing that young girls could have a female lead to look up to who was empowering without the motivation of a man driving her. After mulling it over, though – and she had done quite a bit of thinking on it because this story was very dear to her heart and soul – she’d grown to quite enjoy the idea of two lonely people coming together to be the ones to create balance _in the fucking universe_ and, hey, who was she to assume that women can’t be just as empowered when they’re in love? A story of getting shit done on your own is grand and all, but a story of forgiveness and loving people in spite of their flaws is also pretty brilliant and important for viewers to see.

The Last Jedi had turned out to be the perfect second chapter to Rey’s tale.

Life is short, why not lose yourself to epic force connections and fall for the tall, hot bloke with puppy dog eyes and a goddamn 6-pack? Carpe diem.

She licks the pad of her index finger and turns the page of the script, fluorescent marker still raised at the ready.

It’s been two weeks since she’d received her copy of the script and she’s been slow making her way through it. A mixture of taking time to process the words and directions one page at a time and simply feeling the need to distance herself from it all while she still could. The thick stack of papers had sat safely in a key-locked pouch on her writing desk for two days before she finally convinced herself to unzip it and consume the contents.

Her trip to Los Angeles to meet with J.J. and the rest of the cast had really done a number on her, for no reason other than she was _so confused_ about what had even happened the night they’d all gone out for drinks. She’d arrived on Friday morning and had spent the better half of the day sightseeing and making her way through as many vintage clothing boutiques she could find with Kelly, which was absolutely splendid, and she knows Saturday wasn’t an entire bust because she remembers quite a bit of laughing – but there’s so much of the night she can’t quite piece together. All she knows is that she has choppy visions of doing a _truly horrendous_ cover of a Lana Del Rey song while climbing on top of Adam – poor Adam! – and that she’d spent all of Sunday before her flight back to London lying sick in bed with the worst hangover she’s ever had in her life and the rubbish bin at her side.  She’d had to entirely skip out on J.J.’s lunch to go over parts of the script with the rest of the gang, the reason for the whole trip in the first place, but he’d been understanding enough to stop by the hotel with her copy before she flew out.

She blushes with humiliation when she thinks of Adam. Adam! Oh, he must have been so put off by her randomly _touching him_ and invading his space during karaoke. She can’t recall much, but the way his face had turned up to watch her, mouth slack and cheeks reddened, was burned into her memory. She’d be lying to herself if she said she’s never considered what it’d feel like to touch him, to have his face only inches away from her own, because she’s only human and _he’s bloody attractive,_ but this was not the way she’d ever imagined it happening.

He hasn’t sent her a silly Snapchat photo or random text message the entire two weeks that she’s been home, and she can’t say she blames him. That must have been so incredibly odd for him, having a co-worker randomly dance on your lap in front of everyone else.

Daisy had sent him a short but simple text message reading “I’m so sorry, Adam” two days after what she’d now dubbed The Karaoke Incident of 2018, and he’d replied with a clipped “I understand” minutes later. It’s been radio silent ever since.

She knows she’ll have to swallow her embarrassment and buck up soon. Reach out to him with a proper apology for getting utterly sloshed and actually discuss what she’d done like an adult. Hopefully he’ll forgive her so they can move beyond it and get through this next round of filming. From what she’s read of the script so far, they’ll be spending much of the time together again and she’d hate for the weeks to be filled with awkward tension. That and she considered him to be a friend. A casual friend, true, but she felt that they were always on the cusp of getting _somewhere_ further, that she had been toeing the line of breaking through his sullen exterior and getting to know him on a more personal level, and she wasn’t ready to throw that away just yet.

Using her thumb to bend the corner of the script to mark her place, she closes it for the night and picks up her cell phone instead. Oh, hell. No time like the present. This could work out well, actually, because she was due to be in New York City in a couple of days for her friend Sara’s engagement party. Perhaps she could meet with Adam in person and they could go over the torrid details of butchering songs and drunken lap dances over espresso.

With a nervous exhale she that decides _that’s it_ – _she’s doing this_ and leans back against the plush green pillows of her bed, cocking her head and smiling into the front-facing camera as she raises the phone above her head juuuust high enough to capture a photo in the flattering angle she prefers. Her hair is tossed up in a messy bun and she’s not wearing any makeup, but it’s not as if he hasn’t seen her face bare before. She loads the image into the Snapchat app and taps the picture to add a text overlay.

“I miss you. I’ll be in the city in 3 days. Meet up for coffee to chat?” Her finger hesitates over the little blue arrow that will send the message on its way. It doesn’t quite feel complete, so she presses the pencil button to draw a yellow smiley face under what she’s typed out. Perfect. And then it’s sent.

She’s _not_ going to sit and wait by her phone for a reply, that’s for sure, so she slides out of bed and pads her way to the kitchen to brew a cup of tea.

Her home is her safe place. Her humble abode that she’s so proud to call her own, and she had really worked her ass off to finally be able to buy it. She’s always been a fan of bright, chic, and vintage, so she’s tried her best to incorporate that feeling in every single room of her south western London apartment. Her kitchen is open and airy with white cabinets, black granite countertops, and a light gray brick backsplash, and she’s got lively, green house plants in every place she can make logical room for them. One of her requirements in deciding on a place was that it needed to have large windows so that she could always have access to light; much like the indoor plants she surrounded herself with, she, too, thrived better when bathed in sunshine.

No fan of clutter, her kitchen countertops are mostly bare with the exception of her coffee maker, some pastel-colored knickknack décor from various little shops, and her favorite floral teapot (that’s hardly ever used now that she’s a modern lady with a handy dandy Keurig). She presses the button to brew a cup of hot water and slides a coffee mug with a giant metallic letter D on the side of it underneath the drip just in time to catch the water streaming out, and then tosses a tea bag – green with bits of pomegranate – into the steaming water to steep. She watches as the lines of steam twirl away from the mug and off into the air. The earthy scent of it fills her senses and the minutes feel like hours as they pass by.

What if he doesn’t want to see her? Or even _speak_ to her?

She worries at her bottom lip with her teeth and strums her fingers against the smoothness of the countertop.

Oh, screw it. She can’t wait any longer.

Daisy hurries back to her bedroom and eagerly taps her phone to see if there’s any new messages, and thank heavens there _is_ because otherwise she’d probably continue marching right down Awkward Anxiety Lane. Adam had wasted no time at all getting back to her.

She presses the red square next to his name to see his Snap and smiles fondly at the screen as it opens to a photo of his dog, Moose, sprawled out across a dark gray couch.

“I love coffee. Tell me when and where.” The text reads.

 

* * * * * * *

 

By the time Daisy arrives in New York City and makes it into her room for the next week, the elegant Thompson suite at The Beekman centered in lower Manhattan, her plans are already starting to go awry. Which is ironic considering how much of the 8-hour flight she’d spent making precise plans in her head on how she wanted the _entire_ week to go; daydreaming of pleasant conversation over coffee, happily catching up with her girlfriends throughout the week, and getting all done up in her new gown to turn eyes while celebrating her best friend’s engagement.

When she’d climbed into the Uber waiting for her in front of the bustling airport, bags tucked neatly away thanks to the kind cabbie, she’d felt a familiar ache spreading across her lower back and groaned. Oh, not today! Her skin was already behaving nightmarishly, what with at least 5 small blemishes appearing on her face overnight, and that was already enough to drive her bonkers. Almost nothing made her feel as self-conscious and insecure as a bad break out. This was not the day, or the week, for an endometriosis flare up to hit her. She had been looking forward to her friend’s party and getting to enjoy the wonders of New York City, one of her absolute favorite cities, for so long now.

But the pain shooting up her back is enough for her to see stars as she throws the largest of her suitcases onto the green velvet couch in the living room of the suite, giving a frustrated grunt as she undoes the clasps and opens it up to dig through the neatly-packed contents for her pain medication. She finds what she needs with a victorious “ _Aha!”_ under her breath and grabs an ice-cold water bottle from the fridge in the small but stunningly gorgeous kitchen area, and swallows one of the pills in hopes that it’ll having her feeling much better within the hour.

Even if she did end up feeling well enough to at least enjoy the day, she knew that heading out and grabbing coffee was probably not the best thing to have on the agenda in case the medication doesn’t take as it should. The last thing she wants to deal with is fighting a fit of crippling pain while out in public for everyone to see.

It’s with a sigh that she texts him.

“Adam – sorry, feeling quite under the weather,” she hastily types over the keyboard of her cell phone, biting at her lower lip. Gosh, the last thing he probably wanted was to be blown off after they’d already had such a weird, quiet two weeks between them. “Can’t make it to coffee in Brooklyn. I’m staying at the Thompson suite at The Beekman if you want to swing by later this evening and watch a movie.”

She’s back in the living room now and absentmindedly leans herself against the arm rest of the couch as she hits send and ponders what else to say.

“I know it’s not nearly as tempting as fresh espresso, but I’ve got Netflix and killer room service. I’ve given the lobby your name. Pop up any time.”

His reply doesn’t come as quickly as the others had, he’s clearly busy, but it comes all the same and he doesn’t seem to mind the change of plans.

“That sounds perfectly tempting.” He sends. Always a gentleman. A second text follows right after. “I’ll stop by after shooting tonight if that’s okay. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Hope you feel better.”

Daisy smiles to herself and reads over the messages on her screen. Perfect! So not _everything_ she’d had in mind would be derailed on day one, and that she could work with.

She then types out a text message to her dear friend Sara to let her know she’s arrived in the city safe and sound, adorning the message with at least 6 heart emojis and exclamation points, and that she can’t wait to see her.

She always booked the Thompson suite during stays in New York City because it reminds her so much of her own apartment. The earthy tones of the furniture mixed with bright accents and décor, along with windows that nearly ran floor to ceiling all along the height of the walls – giving a generous view of the sweeping Manhattan skyline as sunshine poured into each room – was the kind of comfort she needed on trips away from London. It was only a suite and not an entire penthouse, so the rooms weren’t as gigantic as other actresses might be able to afford, but they were still large enough to feel airy and more like being in a home away from home instead of being confined in a small, impersonal hotel room. Those had always made her feel a bit claustrophobic.

The black wrought iron balcony available to her dons a cute little bistro table and two chairs, perfect for an afternoon of reading one of the books she’d brought along for the trip, and once she’s changed into a pair of sweatpants and tugs her hair into a messy top knot, she’s already feeling _so_ much better than she’d felt when she’d first arrived. She grabs a novel and seats herself down at the table, delving into it in the comfort of giant city skyscrapers and the sound of life bustling below, the scent of street food and a soft summer breeze curling around her every so often, and it’s a great relief when the pain medication begins to kick in and soothe the cramping at her back.

 

* * * * * * *

 

There’s a knock at the door. Quiet at first, but then more persistent the second time.

Her phone buzzes loudly on the pillow beside her.

 _What time is—_ OH! Oh, shoot, she must have fallen asleep after coming inside from the balcony and the knocking, was that – she checks her phone hastily. It’s Adam.

One missed call, and a couple of text messages.

From three hours ago: “How are you feeling?”

And then, from two hours ago: “Finished up with shooting, gonna head home to grab a quick shower and then I’ll be over. Do you need me to bring you anything?”

He was such a good friend.

The most recent text from about, _oh no_ , two minutes ago: “Hey, I’m outside of your room. I’ve knocked a few times. Are you here?”

She clambers out of bed, and, gosh, she hadn’t even tucked herself under the covers – the medication mixed with jet lag must have really knocked her on her ass, and hurries to the door, swinging it open just as he’s turning on his heel to leave. He’s holding two drug store bags in one of his hands when the sound of the door moving startles him to look her way.

And, damn, he looks _good._

She, on the other hand, must not look as put together, because when he takes in her appearance his brow furrows with concern.

“Shit, Daisy,” he says, stepping toward her, plastic bags rustling at his side. He’s wearing a perfectly-fitting pair of dark denim jeans _again_ and a navy blue button-down shirt. His face looks freshly shaven and his hair, obviously still the same shorter haircut he’d donned only two weeks before, is doing that _thing_ where it casually waves to one side. She can tell he’s been working out for whatever project he’s currently shooting because his already usually large physique is even more fit as he stares at her now.

“That bad, huh?” She asks as playfully as she can, the sleep still thick in her voice as she blinks at him. She’s still wearing her sweatpants, a loose-fitting tank, and she can only imagine how screwy the little bun on her head must be.

“I didn’t know you were sleeping,” His face is apologetic as if he’d somehow just committed the worst crime imaginable by disturbing her rest. “If you want I can—” He gestures toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

A grin spreads across her features and she reaches forward to tug at his sleeve and pull him inside. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t even think about it, bestie.” Curious, her eyes drop down to the bags in his hand again. “Get in here and show me what gifts you come bearing.”

Truly, she’d thought it’d be awkward to see him after The Karaoke Incident of 2018, but she’s relieved that she doesn’t feel even a little worried now that he’s standing here in person, quietly following her into the living room of her now dimly-lit suite. The only thing awkward right now, she realizes with a grimace as they pass by one of the little mirrors mounted on the wall, is her appearance. She’d have to escape to the bathroom to touch up as soon as possible.   

The curtains are still as open as they were when she’d arrived and the night sky beyond the windows is illuminated by the lights of _so many_ buildings, and she doesn’t bother to close them because she loves the city, thinks the night lights are probably one of the main perks of the suite itself, but she does turn on each lamp as they walk further inside to make the space easier on the eyes. They reach the dining room and he sets his bags onto the table.

“So,” she smiles up at him.

“Um, well,” he begins, unloading the loot of what he’s brought. “You didn’t reply to my text message about how you were feeling so I stopped on the way over and grabbed you, uh,” and, God, his cheeks are really burning red, he’s _blushing,_ because now he’s pulling out just about every kind of drug store medicine you can imagine – various brands of flu relief, Ibuprofen, cough syrup, pain relieving cream, bottles of vitamin water, and, oh, bless him, _heating pads_ and… strangely, two bags of Sour Patch Kids, which she’ll gladly take off his hands.

“Oh!” Her eyes soften along with her voice as she watches those big hands of his fumble with the boxes of medicine as he sets each item on the table, like he’s so fucking nervous that he’d done something so chivalrous without being asked to.

“I wasn’t sure what to buy, just in case you did need something, but I know it’s a pain in the ass to go out on your own in the city if you’re not feeling too hot, and you’ve just had a long flight, so hopefully something here will help.” He looks up to meet her eyes, smiling sheepishly and moving his hands to the pockets of his jeans.

Daisy’s heart swells about ten times its natural size in her chest as she looks at him.

“My knight in navy blue button-down,” she says after a moment, her expression warm as she maintains their eye contact. A soft chuckle leaves his throat at that.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The nefarious cramping returns to her lower half as they’re comfortably seated on the sofa in the living room. They’re about 20 minutes into the movie they’ve agreed on, a space thriller called Sunshine – _“Oooh, Chris Evans,”_ Daisy had said dreamily as they read the description, and if she didn’t know better she’d swear a look of jealousy flickered across Adam’s features at that – but they’ve spent most of the time talking instead of actually paying attention to the film. They’ve turned off the lamps again so that now the quaint living room is illuminated only by the city lights outside the windows and the glow of the television in front of them. Together they’ve killed half a bag of Sour Patch Kids.

Adam’s telling her about the new film he’s working on, a star-studded CIA flick called The Torture Report, and she’s nodding along with genuine interest until a particularly sharp pain jolts her and she has to sink lower into the couch for comfort.

“Are you… okay?!” Adam asks with concern in his voice as he watches her movements.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, and she can’t believe that her body is doing this to her right now, on _this_ night of all nights. She’s dealt with the pain of endometriosis for so long, at this point it’s really nothing she can’t handle, but some of the more startling pains still shake her sometimes. “It’s my endometriosis. Started acting up on the flight here, must have noticed I was sitting contently for too long and wanted to rear its ugly head.”

He looks positively panicked.

She wiggles her legs in front of her and motions to his own. “Do you mind if I –” she starts, a blush creeping up over _her_ cheeks now. _Going for the lap again_ , she thinks to herself, but at least this time she’s asking first.

He shakes his head, because of course he doesn’t mind, and she stretches her legs out across the sofa with an exhale, her calves resting comfortably against his thighs, and by the time she’s shifted the couch pillows enough to prop herself up against the arm rest behind her, the cramps have passed. He lifts the knitted throw blanket that’s draped across the arm rest next to him and pulls it over both of them, dropping his hands to rest against her legs once he’s sure she’s nice and tucked in.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” Daisy’s looking at him now, eternally grateful that he’s actually _here_ and that he doesn’t seem to mind comforting her, but she still feels a bit terrible that he’s come all the way out to Manhattan after what she knows had to be a long work day of filming. “Wish I would have had more time to make myself presentable.”

Adam stares at her incredulously, gaze studying her face, and she’s not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it but one of his thumbs is lightly dragging back and forth against her calf as if to soothe her.

“You don’t need makeup,” he says matter-of-factly. “Like I’ve told you before, you always look beautiful.”

She blinks. When had he told her that? Surely she would have remembered a compliment _that_ sweet.

Clicking her tongue against her teeth, she goes on because she’s just in one of those moods, and she gestures to her face as if the couple of pimples spotting across her chin and up into her t-zone are absolutely damning.

“I wanted to look nice for my friend’s engagement party but now I’ve got cramps and all of,” she sighs in a way that says she knows she’s being incredibly nit-picky, face scrunching up,  “this going on.”

He regards her words for a moment before looking back toward the TV, eyes taking in the star-lit scene of the movie in front of them, a giant yellow sun panning into the shot.

“You know,” he begins, shifting his thighs to lean into a more comfortable position, tugging her legs along with the movement so that they stay in their rightful place atop his lap. “There wasn’t a lot to do growing up in Indiana. I mean, Mishawaka is literally in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and when you’re nearly 6 foot tall by the end of middle school with giant ears and crooked teeth, and your favorite band is fucking Tchaikovsky, you don’t exactly attract a lot of friends—” he laughs now, eyes bright, using a hand to gesture away the look of sadness that crosses her features because the story he’s telling right now isn’t for pity. He doesn’t talk about the way he grew up often, so this is a rare tale just for her.

“My mom bought me a telescope for Christmas one year, but it was one of those cheap plastic ones and the instruction pamphlet that came with it was bullshit so I couldn’t get it to focus on anything. I spent probably a good week in the library at school researching how to use it. We lived at the end of this old dirt road where the houses were far enough apart for there to be barely any light pollution, and you could just see _everything,”_ he nods to the TV now, another well-shot scene scattered with stars and nebulae, “even without the telescope. I was a fucking bored kid and it became a mission, getting this thing to actually focus on something. I’d checked out a book that had a list of constellations viewable from Earth and I was determined to find them through the damn thing and _really_ see for myself that they were out there. Up close. I don’t know why but part of me needed to be able to see science and space for myself to truly believe it was all real.”

Daisy’s staring at him as he speaks, the city lights illuminating his features just enough for her to make him out in the dark, and she’s watching the way he talks with his hands — the muscles in his forearm taut with each movement, the way his lips form the words. He’s so determined when he gets into something he’s passionate about and she’s certain she could listen to him go on for days without ever feeling bored.

“And then one night I turned the adjustment knobs _just_ right and, boom. There they were. Stars, blinking rapidly, in focus, in front of my face through this tiny view hole, and I could see it all, the vastness of it, the way it just fucking went on forever. I was fifteen-years-old and experiencing existentialism for the first time and I think I stood on my back porch for hours that night, looking up the constellations in that beat-up library book and trying to find as many as I could.”

He grips her legs with one hand – and, jeez, his hand is really big enough to nearly cover both of them – and leans forward across the small couch so that he’s closer to her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body as his chest presses against her thigh, the scent of his cologne, something earthy and masculine, filling her space. His other hand reaches out toward her and when he runs the pad of his thumb across her cheek she shivers, lowering her eyes with embarrassment as his touch grazes over her blemishes. When she flicks her eyes back up to meet his she cannot believe the look of absolute wonder on his face now that it’s so close to her own.

“These are just constellations,” he says without blinking, voice soft and reassuring.

_Oh._

She could cry.

“We’re all just particles floating on a fucking rock in the middle of a universe that never ends. Those stars,” another nod toward the TV, although now it’s showing a scene of Chris Evans running frantically through a spacecraft and _not_ an abundance of stars, which is actually kind of hilarious given the seriousness of the moment. “Are no more stunning than you are, even on the days you’re feeling your worst.”

Christ. He could have just said, _“you look good even with monster zits, Daz.”_ and she would have felt completely placated with herself, but he’s a fucking romantic! Adam Driver, the sullen, intimidating giant who is capable of portraying one of the most terrifying figures in modern children’s movies is a _romantic_ , and Daisy is feeling absolutely wooed as she looks on into his deep, chocolatey brown eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she says after a moment. There’s remorse in her voice. She clears her throat and shakes her head, and he looks confused.

“For what happened in Los Angeles,” she goes on, and she knows she’s blushing again now that she’s actually bringing it up. “Violating your space. Climbing into your lap in front of everyone. So embarrassing.” She brings a palm to cover her face now, cringing into her hand, and he rests his hand against it before gently pulling it back down. She _truly_ feels terrible and hopes he realizes she’d never intentionally do something to make him uncomfortable.

“You never called.” He says shortly, but there’s no trace of anger or resentment in his voice.

Her head cocks to the side in confusion.

“Called? I texted you a few days later once I’d gotten back to London.”

Adam swallows and nods. “Yes, but I told you to sleep on it and thought I’d hear from you the next day. I didn’t, so I assumed you didn’t want…. That you regretted what had happened, and I wanted to give your space.”

Now she’s _really_ confused and has no clue what he’s going on about. _What had happened?_ All she had remembered was the awkward lap-sitting as she stumbled over song lyrics and sloppily gulped down wine. Her thoughts are racing as she tries to piece together what on earth he could possibly be insinuating, going over each moment of the group dinner, and she knows her face probably looks ridiculous; he’s still close enough for a grand view of the realization setting in across her features, and then –

“Oh, god! I kissed you!” She shrieks, reaching her hand back up to cover her mouth.

And now Adam _laughs_ , deep and throaty, because her eyes are nearly bugging out of her head with surprise and it’s all so ridiculous.

“A little bit, yeah.” He says after a beat.

“I –” she starts. “I’m – are you – was it okay?” Is all she can manage to get out. Her heart is hammering at a pace so impressively fast that she wouldn’t be surprised if it shot right out of her chest and hit him square in his bemused face.

He laughs again, chest rumbling against her thigh once more as he continues to lean his body to be closer to her as they speak, and that position can’t possibly be comfortable for him, but his torso is long and if he’s bothered by the way he’s sitting, it doesn’t show at all.

His eyes scan her face as if he’s searching for _something_. “You really don’t remember?” He asks.

“I don’t. I mean, I have this flash of knowing that I _did_ it now that you’ve hinted, but I don’t remember specifics. I am so sorry. I’m never, ever drinking wine again,” she wails, hilariously, and tilts her head back into the stiff pillows against the arm rest. She cannot believe herself!

“I forgive you,” he replies with amusement and something that sounds a bit like relief still in his voice, and then he leans back to his original position against the back of the couch, no longer close to her face, and she’s not a fan of the distance between them now although she’s not about to tell him that, so they watch the rest of the movie and fall into a comfortable rapport of random jokes and anecdotes.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Adam is getting ready to leave when another flare up takes her by surprise. Or at least he seems to be when they finally stand up, stretching and yawning after a good three hours spent on the loveseat, and he starts awkwardly fidgeting with his keys as if he knows the night is coming to a close but he’s not entirely happy about it. He’s just about to open his mouth to speak when Daisy winces and brings a hand to push against her abdomen. Needle-pricks of pain spread across her body.

The concerned look returns to his face and this time he moves, snaps into action, placing a hand at the small of her back, a comforting heat through the thin fabric of her tank top, and he swoops her up into his arms in a bridal carry as if she weighs _absolutely nothing_.

“Hey!” She protests, but she’s not entirely complaining because being pulled up against his chest, her cheek resting along the curve of his forearm as he cradles her with care and walks her through the dark suite and into the bedroom, is probably the best remedy endometriosis has ever led her to, so she remains silent when he lowers her down onto the bed and pulls the covers aside.

“Get under,” he speaks finally, voice stern in a way that says he’s not about to take no for an answer, and then he’s out of the room.

She listens because, frankly, she feels like absolute shit now that her system is void of any pain medication and the grogginess of her earlier nap is returning, and she’s so _tired._ A good night’s sleep will do her a lot of good and she knows her body will be much kinder to her in the morning.

Deciding she can’t possibly humiliate herself in front of him more than she already has, she figures it won’t hurt to take it a step further and make herself as comfortable as she needs to be for bed. She climbs under the silky-smooth down comforter and then uses her hands to swiftly tug off the sweatpants she’d been wearing for most of the day, reaching up into her shirt and snapping off her bra as well, tossing them both to the corner of the room, leaving her only in her underwear and tank, and she sighs with relief as her bare legs come into contact with the cool fabric of the blanket.

Adam strides back into the room with his hands full and gives her a satisfied once over when he sees she’s cozied up under the comforter. He’s brought her a water bottle, her prescription pain medication, the pain-alleviating cream, and a heating pad. A walking miracle if she’s ever seen one.

He places the bottles on the wooden night stand next Daisy and then, to her surprise, he sits on the edge of the bed, pain cream and heating pad at his side, and starts unlacing his boots before sliding them off because, _oh_ , he’s not about to leave after all – in fact, and she shifts under the blanket when she realizes, he plans on sliding right under the covers with her.

Which is exactly what he does, and when he’s under the comforter and scoots his large frame across the sheets to be closer to her, he realizes she’s no longer wearing her sweatpants and she can hear it when his breath _hitches_ in his throat.

Her heart is pounding in her chest again now and it feels as though a vice grip of sexual tension has taken hold of it and, god, she doesn’t know if she’s delirious from the long day she’s had or if she really just craves the comfort of having him close to her now.  But he’s here and she’s apparently already kissed him, so she turns her body to face him under the blanket, messy hair falling into her face as she rests her head against the pillow and lets her eyes linger on him, watching his hand as it moves to tuck the fallen strands behind her ear. He scoots even closer and she’s disappointed that he’s still got his jeans on.

Voice soft, eyes soft, everything about him _fucking soft_ , he dips his head close enough that she can feel the puff of his breath when he speaks.

“Where does it hurt?” He asks, all warmth and peppermint.

So she reaches up and wraps her dainty fingers around his hand, the one now thumbing soft little circles against the curve of her jaw, and guides it around her waist, along the elastic line of her underwear – _comfort panties,_ she grumbles in her brain, _of course I’m wearing comfort panties –_ and to the small of her back, sliding it up underneath the tank top so that they’re skin to skin.

“Here,” she whispers, her eyelids wavering just a little as he pushes the palm of his hand against the spot where the cramps have been hitting her worst.

He’s breathing harder than he probably wants to let on and she can tell he’s trying to maintain his composure when he pulls his hand back, using the other one to pop open the lid of the pain-relieving cream, and once he’s got some of it smeared across the width of his palm he dips it back under the covers to find the spot against her back once more.

This is fine. This is something that co-workers, casual friends, do every day.

“Adam.” Her voice is soft when she says his name, leaning into his touch as he rubs the cream against the small of her back and higher, up the dips of her spine, fingertips tracing and kneading the spot where the strap of her bra had sat. He massages his way back down to the hem of her panties, nails breaching the fabric ever so slightly but going no lower, and she can’t still believe how big his hand is, that the span of it is almost the width of her entire waist, and she really probably shouldn’t be thinking about how _massive_ is when she’s half naked and receiving a back rub from him. The ointment melts into her skin and everywhere his fingers touch quite literally leaves her burning, icy hot tingles that sooth her down to her muscles.

He chuckles, dark and downright filthy, head resting against her pillow as he watches her face. Their mouths are inches apart again.

“Feel good?” He asks, a deep murmur.

Daisy nods.

His hand continues to knead at her skin and she hadn’t realized it but she’s been moving closer and closer to him, close enough that her bare legs are brushing his clothed ones, that she could – if she wanted to – easily lift a leg up to arch around his thigh, to pull him in and _take, take, take._ She doesn’t do that, though; instead she reaches back to his hand, a soft touch, and moves it to the front of her, her belly, the spot right above her underwear, every part of her aching with want, and her voice is barely audible when she says, “here, too.”

God, he’s good at this. Taking care of people _and_ working with his hands.

The tension between them is so thick that it wraps around her, consuming her, and she feels as though someone has just dipped her veins in water that’s both freezing and hot at the same time, and it’s flowing thick throughout her limbs. She can tell by the way his eyes have darkened, the way his tongue darts out to lick at his bottom lip, that he can feel it, too.

Adam moves with confidence as clever fingers trail across the muscles of her stomach, moving his hand ever so slowly and lowering his eyes to watch the way she melts into his contact, and he drags his hand up, up, exploring her, running the pads of his fingers along the curves of her ribs, pressing against each one as if she’s a vibraphone and he wants to drive melodies out of her, wants to hear every sound she’s capable of making, and she _arches_ her body into his waist because she wants more, wants him to go higher, to feel the way her body is reacting to his touch.

But he doesn’t, instead he uses his other hand to reach for the heating pad and rests it on top of the blanket above them so that she can open it and place it where it needs to go against her.

“Remind me,” she says a few moments after she’s attached the sticky side of the pad to the inside of her underwear so that it’s pressing against the spot just above her pelvic bone, soothing any residual cramping and keeping her warm. His hand is casually resting on her stomach now and he’s gazing contently across the pillow at her sleepy face.

There are no words when he closes the space between them and kisses her the same way he had two weeks ago in a dirty California alleyway, and this time when he gently cups the line of her jaw with his hand, she knows she’ll never forget it.


End file.
